


No Reins: Things go Bump in the Night

by MonoclePony



Series: Saddles and Stirrups [4]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Fluff, Humour, M/M, No Reins extra, equestrian AU, halloween themed, horse riding AU, horses horses everywhere, sneaky lil shit Marco, sulky Jean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-30
Updated: 2014-10-30
Packaged: 2018-02-23 06:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2536796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonoclePony/pseuds/MonoclePony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another oneshot extra of No Reins (the author should really stop flogging a dead horse but OH WELL).</p><p>Set a year after the end of No Reins, where the nerds are married but are as of yet baby-less. As you all know, this doesn't last. </p><p>Marco finds out that one of the things Jean doesn't do is Halloween. Unfortunately, Marco loves Halloween. A lot. Thus, on their first proper Halloween as a married couple, Marco decides to get Jean into the holiday spirit at any cost...</p><p>This is so stupid I swear to God, but I hope y'all like it anywho.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Reins: Things go Bump in the Night

**Author's Note:**

> So, I know I shouldn't but I couldn't help writing something for Halloween and well the nerds presented the ideal opportunity for me. I promise I'll be working on SFS soon, but I had this on the go and more of didney worl to sort out *dies* but rest assured, it will get done! 
> 
> Anywho, I hope you like this. The nerds are nerds, Jean has a (perfectly) rational fear of Jack Nicholson and Marco is more of a sneak than he ever was as a teenager. And, obviously, Titan's obsession with pumpkins...
> 
> My tumblr is, as usual, here: attackonmyponderland.tumblr.com and seriously, comments give me life, comment away!

It wasn’t any secret that Marco loved Halloween. He loved any sort of holiday, really, but Halloween was up there in his favourites. Jinae wasn’t renowned for its events, but its holiday spirit was always in vast abundance- houses were decorated with hundreds of plastic skeletons, children were excitedly discussing costumes in September and pumpkins were almost entirely emptied from the fields surrounding the little village. Marco, therefore, had every right to love Halloween.

He forgot how much Jean didn’t _do_ holidays.

When he first found out, Marco tried to contain the feeling of complete and utter shock that crushed his ribcage at Jean’s shrugged words. When he asked, Jean just sent him a look, and Marco understood. His father. Marco often wondered just how much Jean had been deprived of as a child once his mother left, but it wasn’t something Jean ever felt like talking about, and Marco respected that. Still, Halloween was a holiday they would celebrate no matter what, and Jean being a Scrooge was not going to change Marco’s mind. After bounding up to his husband one evening after the evening feed and nearly knocking him off his feet in excitement for the week ahead of Halloween, Marco had gotten an unimpressed look and a gentle batting around the head from Jean. “I’m sorry, Marco,” he said as Marco buried his face in the back of his neck to make him shiver, “I’m just not a holidays kind of guy. Never have been.”

“But it’s Halloweeeeeen,” Marco whined, blowing a small ball of air into Jean’s ear to make him squeak. “It’s not just _any_ holiday. It’s the best one.”

“You say that about Christmas,” Jean remarked, his attention definitely falling from the dinner he was trying to prepare as Marco wrapped his arms around his middle and squeezed.

“Jeeeeean.”

Still, nothing could be done. Jean wasn’t massively keen on playing along, and Marco had to accept that. He might have tried to accept it- but it didn’t mean he was going to let it go entirely. He was still set on celebrating the holiday like he always did, and so as the 31st of October drew near he bought six large pumpkins back from one of his excursions to the village market and dropped them down on the yard with a grunt. Jean eyed them from where he was stood grooming Sina, and cleared his throat. “What are those?”

“Cucumbers,” Marco replied.

“Don’t sass me, Bodt.” Jean squinted at them. “Why so many?”

“In case I mess up the first one,” Marco said brightly. “And Titan likes pumpkin.”

Jean blinked, glancing over at the stable that held the gelding in question. Titan was watching Marco intently, eyes large and ears pricked forwards, and Marco swore he could see the gelding’s lips twitching at the sight of the pumpkins. He began to stretch out his neck to see if he could reach, and snorted with annoyance when he realised he had no chance. “You’re a strange one,” Jean muttered to the gelding.

“Don’t insult my horse,” Marco snorted, grinning at the way Sina lowered her head to investigate the strange vegetable. Titan tossed his head and let out a longing whinny, and Marco walked over to tap him on the nose. “Nuh uh uh boy, not yet,” he chided. Titan snorted in disgust and rubbed his face against Marco’s chest in retaliation.

“The guy eats sugared almonds and pumpkins for crying out loud, he’s a strange horse!” Jean defended, throwing Sina’s brush down and giving her a parting pat for good measure. “At least Sina eats normal things!”

“You just haven’t explored your horse’s palette,” Marco sniffed, chuckling when Sina’s brush sailed past his ear. “Oh, I forgot to mention, there was someone on the phone for you earlier. Something to do with accounts.”

Jean threw his head back and whined. Loudly. “I _hate_ doing the accounts,” he wailed.

“All part and partial of owning a business I’m afraid, love.”

“Can’t _you_ do them?”

Marco made a face. “I did them last time.” Titan was chewing on his hair, and he tried to shoo the horse away. “You promised I wouldn’t have to do them again.”

“Ugh, fine.” Jean swept in close and planted a rather heavy kiss against Marco’s lips. “The things I do for you. Must love you a hell of a lot.”

“Mmm, don’t I know it,” Marco murmured against Jean’s mouth as he pulled away an inch to simply breathe the same breath as Marco. Marco nuzzled against Jean with a content sigh, giggling a little at the way their noses bumped together. He was still waiting for the honeymoon period to be over- that little slice of time that was always said to vanish into mundane neutrality at some point. It hadn’t. It had been two years, and the warm feeling that dwelled in the pit of Marco’s stomach was still there. It replaced the icy spike of anxiety that he had always been cursed with, and though it still poked through now and again, the warmth sent it packing more often than not. And Jean was the reason for that. They didn’t even have to have their hands or mouths on each other; they could just stand in each other’s space, drinking in every breath and sweeping skin against skin, and they were happy. At least, the small noises Jean was making in the back of his throat when Marco nuzzled him again _sounded_ happy. When they pulled away, Jean looked a little more content. Just a little. Maybe it was Marco’s imagination. “I’ll go sort out the accounts, baby, don’t worry.”

He untethered Sina from her rung and put her away in her stall before wandering back up to the house, grabbing Marco’s hand and squeezing it as he passed him. Marco watched him go with a smile, before turning back to Titan with the intention of getting his hooves picked and coat gleaming by the time the sun went down and it was time to snuggle down with Jean with the scariest film he could convince his husband to watch- which was, apparently, tame according to Armin. But then, as he got Titan’s grooming kit out of the tack room, his eyes fell on a large tub of non-toxic white paint.

Marco didn’t get mischievous thoughts very often. They usually snuck up on him when he wasn’t paying attention and wormed their way into his brain until he decided they were 'good' ideas. Marco wasn't the sneaky type, mainly because he was awful at keeping secrets and the urge to share his genius with others was just too great. Usually, the ideas were quashed because Marco was a good person and didn't like to act on his instincts. At the moment, however, he knew exactly what he wanted to do, and his face split into a grin at the thought. He snatched it up without a second thought and jogged to Titan's stall, tittering as he went, and thinking that this was the best plan he'd had in a while. Titan turned to stare at him in confusion as he slipped into the stall without leading him out, and brandished the tub with a beaming grin. "You up for a game of dress up, Titan?" he asked. The gelding seemed to squint at the tub, like he was trying to make a decision, before he bobbed his head eagerly and frisked Marco's pockets for any scrap of pumpkin he might have had hiding away. Marco chuckled, and got to work.

* * *

An hour and a half later, the first part of Marco's plan had been put into effect. He slipped out of Titan's stall barely capable of holding in his sniggers, and tried to carry on with the rest of the yard work as normal. He tied up the haynets for the night, checked the feeding rotas and made sure to rub some of the cooling lotion Jean had spent more money than he should have on Littlefoot's legs. The colt suffered from mud fever in wet weather, and the autumnal season of Jinae wasn't exactly full of dry spells. The colt barely twitched as Marco massaged the lotion onto his slightly chunky legs, and even moved along to pull at his haynet to pass the time. "Yeah, yeah, thanks Littlefoot, you're really helping," Marco snorted, straightening up with a scowl at the way Littlefoot was leaning ever so slightly to the right in order to get nearer to his food.

Titan and Sina were due to be put out in the paddock, and this was exaclty what Marco had been waiting for. He took Sina out first, making sure the mare's rug was on securely and her tail wasn't tangled at the end (it was only the best for Jean's horse, but unfortunately that meant the stupidest number of straps known to man). Once she was out, he turned back for Titan. Even Sina looked a little surprised as he led out the gelding, Titan tossing his head and prancing around like normal. The difference was that Marco had succeeded in painting an entire equine skeleton all the way across his horse's body. The ribs tapered down the width of Titan's stomach, and the leg joints hooked in place exactly where they should have gone. Titan had even stood still long enough to let Marco paint on the skull marking around his eyes and nose. To anyone outside of the yard, Marco was leading a horse that the Grim Reaper would look more at home riding than he would.

He walked Titan to the paddock gate, unclipping his headcollar and letting the gelding loose with a grin. In the dark, Titan's coat barely showed up- but the white bones Marco had painted on seemed to glare out from the choking darkness that was threatening the landscape, and when Titan let out a terrific buck to shake off his excess energy it looked as though the skeleton was its own being. Sina really did look confused, and when Titan trotted over to her with a whicker of greeting, she bolted to the other end of the paddock, hocks flying as she tried to evade this strange new horse in her field. Titan only thought it was a game, and surged after her with a guttural neigh, his painted coat moving and rippling like an independent skeleton as he took off in hot pursuit. Marco chuckled to himself from the fence, and straightened up. Stage one was complete.

Trying to keep Jean away from Titan's stall was relatively easy. He needn't have bothered thinking up ways of keeping Jean distracted; the phonecall for the accounts took far longer than anticipated, and Jean ended up falling asleep at the kitchen table with a wad of papers as a makeshift pillow. Marco made them dinner after that, demanding amid Jean's protests that he needed to eat before he even thought about seeing to the horses. They didn't bother using the kitchen table, and instead set their plates on their laps and made themselves comfortable in the living room. Marco found _Insidious_ on the television. Jean made him turn it over. They ended up watching _The Shining_ curled up under a blanket together, and even though Jean was adamant he had seen it all before and therefore wouldn't be scared of it, he still jumped at every scare and burrowed into Marco's neck whenever the music began to reach a different pitch. "Don't like Jack," he mumbled.

"What, Jack Nicholson?" Marco asked, combing his fingers through Jean's hair as he watched the self-same actor have a conversation with a long dead barman at the hotel. "I think he's brilliant."

"He's terrifying. Has a scary face."

Marco laughed. "A scary face? That's hardly fair."

"S'true though."

They managed to get three quarters of the way through the film before Jean demanded they pause it. "I need to go check on the horses," he announced, almost falling off of Marco's lap from where he'd jumped into it so many times, and Marco let him go with an innocent smile.

"I forgot to mention!" Marco added once Jean had untangled himself. "Titan and Sina are out in the paddock. They needed to let off a little steam seeing as the lessons were going on today and we didn't have time to exercise them. Do you mind bringing them in, baby?"

It was an innocent enough question. So innocent, in fact, that Jean didn't even question the fact that usually Marco would have brought them in during the evening feed. Instead, he shrugged wordlessly and planted a parting kiss on the side of Marco's head. "I can bring them in. Don't worry."

"Titan was being a bit headstrong earlier," Marco said before Jean could get out of earshot, "so I think you could whistle him over and he'll come nicely."

Jean nodded. He suspected nothing. Bless. So trusting. "Alright. No worries. I'll see you in a minute."

"You sure you'll be alright? I mean..." Marco motioned to the television. "Jack Nicholson might come and get you."

The look on Jean's face was a picture. "Don't even fucking joke about that, Marco Kirschtein-Bodt. I don't believe in ghosts but I sure as hell believe in freaky ass actors who look like they should be serial killers."

Marco grinned, and stretched across the entirety of the sofa. "I'll be waiting," he trilled.

Jean grumbled something under his breath as he left, but Marco liked to think that there was a slight flush to the tips of his ears as he walked out of the door.

And now, Marco had to wait. It wouldn't be a long game, he reasoned, as Jean wanted to get the horses in and get back to the house as soon as possible, but he still shuffled out from underneath their blanket in order to stand at the back door and listen. That was, after all, half the fun. For a moment, all was quiet. All he could hear was the sounds of shuffling horses and the crunching of hay. But then he heard it. A single whistle, piercing the night like a knife. And then there came Titan's whistle in return, and the thunder of hooves. Marco waited. He was bursting from trying to hold in his laughter. And then it came.

"BAAAAAAAHHHHH WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS."

So, it worked. Trick complete.

* * *

“Jean?”

“No.”

“Come on, baby, don’t be like that.”

“No!”

Marco had found his trick hilarious. He was still rolling about on the floor when Jean stomped in with a look of outrage on his face- only making it worse to stop the laughter from spilling out. Jean screeching about he could ‘hear his fucking cackling’ from the paddock also didn’t help. Imagining Titan's look of complete bewilderment as he skidded to a halt in front of Jean was something to be treasured. In a single scream, Jean had sounded like a schoolgirl and lost about eighty percent of his macho-ness. The only thing Marco managed to get out through his smatterings of complete and utter glee were the words, "Happy Halloween, Jean." Marco thought that Jean would see the funny side of it eventually, or at least commend him on his artistic skills- but he was wrong. So, so, wrong.

Jean sulked occasionally, but never like this. The last time was when he’d had an argument with his father, and after the initial ignoring and beating up of inanimate objects he’d curled up on their sofa to watch as many awful films he could stomach. But then, Marco hadn’t often been the reason for his sulks. The last time hadn’t seen Jean refuse to let Marco go near him for the rest of the evening. Every time Marco tried, Jean would just shuffle away like he was made of lava. At one point, Marco was convinced that Jean had been scared into only being able to say one word: _No._

And now, they were getting ready for bed, and Jean had ripped their duvet free and wrapped it around him like a protective cocoon. Marco just stood there, staring right back at him, not quite believing the extent to which Jean was punishing him. “Jean, it was a joke,” he said, folding his arms as he stared. “Don’t tell me you’re going to hog the duvet.”

Jean did one better. He sank to the floor, still rolled in the duvet, and slumped to the floor with little more than a grumble. Marco huffed. “You have got to be kidding me.” He walked around the bed and stood over the prone lump of duvet and husband, brow arched. He poked the bundle with his toe. “C’mon baby, I said I was sorry, didn’t I? Don’t be a sourpuss.” The mass of duvet wriggled away from his gentle poking with silent haughtiness. Marco was half tempted to jump on it and kiss Jean into submission- but he guessed that wouldn’t be a good idea. “You’re not seriously going to sleep on the floor tonight, are you? Just because Titan scared you.”

The bundle wriggled again, and Jean’s head popped out from the top of the duvet, hair ruffled into oblivion and a scowl Marco couldn’t help but want to kiss away. “Titan didn’t paint a skeleton on himself,” Jean muttered.

Marco grinned. “So, the marshmallow speaks,” he said, sitting down beside Jean and crossing his legs. He laughed at the scandalised look Jean gave him. “C’mon, come to bed.”

Jean’s face vanished from sight. “No.”

“Why not?”

Marco knew that however much of an adorable nerd Jean was, he was quite proud- and he didn’t like that pride of his being dented. Marco reached out to the Jean-marshmallow and ran a hand down where he guessed Jean’s legs were. Judging by the shudder the duvet gave him, he’d guessed correctly. “Tricks are part and partial of Halloween, sweetheart,” he said, drifting his hand up to rest it on the slight curve of Jean’s hip bone. He circled it there for a while, knowing how the touch was sprouting fire on Jean’s skin. One of the many advantages of living alone and having endless hours to explore and discover each other’s bodies, to nip and bite and suck every patch of skin yielded to them, was that Marco knew Jean’s weak spots. And there were _lots_ of them. Jean was definitely sensitive in more ways than one.

Marco smiled at the way the tense body under the duvet began to soften under his muffled touch. “Besides,” he continued softly, leaning in close, “you haven’t had the ‘treat’ part yet.”

He thought that would do it. He was surprised, therefore, when the duvet rolled away from him with a squeak. A very unmanly squeak. Marco blinked. Jean really was stubborn as a mule when it came to his pride. That was something to note.

“Alright,” he sighed, standing up. “I’ll take the bed. The cold bed. With that scratchy blanket from the living room. Have fun on the floor, marshmallow. Hope Jack Nicholson comes over to say hello.”

He got the blanket. He got into bed. He squinted down at the Jean-marshmallow. No movement. He sighed and flopped down against the mattress, trying to ignore how cold it was without Jean. It was childish sulking. It was pointless. It was only a joke. Jean needed to grow a sense of humour.

_I miss him._

The thought occurred to Marco that he hadn’t slept alone since his last competitive tour- and he had hated every single minute of it. He missed the heat of sharing the bed with someone else, the soft breathing they made as they gradually slipped into a deeper sleep, the thrum of another heartbeat under his fingertips. He’d even started missing the way Jean would snore ridiculously loud in the winter (he was prone to colds and flu). He glanced down at Jean. Was he asleep? Did he drift off so easily, without a thought to the boy he was torturing? Marco shuffled closer to the edge of the bed, peeking over its edge with a barely contained whine. “Jeeeean,” he whimpered. “It’s cold up here.”

Nothing.

“Are you asleep?”

“No,” was Jean’s weak reply a minute later.

“Are you comfortable, baby?”

“No.”

“It’s sort of comfy up here. It’d be more comfy if you were here.” Jean snorted like a bad-tempered horse. “Soft mattress, fluffy pillows…” Marco continued.

“Marco, cut it out.”

Marco dropped a hand off the edge and poked, hard. “Jean, please…”

“I’m trying to sleep.”

“This is very grown up,” Marco replied, poking the space where he was sure Jean’s cheek was. “Please, Jean. I miss you. I need my cuddle buddy.”

Jean groaned. “Marcooo, don’t pull ‘cuddle buddies’ on me,” he whined. “I’m meant to be mad at you.” His voice was muffled, but there was a hint of desperation. Marco detected weakness.

Marco managed to find a gap in the bundle Jean had so firmly wrapped himself in and started to play with his hair idly. “You can trick me next year?” he tried.

“Can’t trick you if you know it’s coming,” Jean sniffed. But Marco could feel him moving into the touch, a broken sigh on his lips, and he kept it up.

“I just wanted to get you in the holiday spirit, that’s all. And I have a year to forget about you tricking me. Come on, sweetheart. I wanna cuddle. It’s cold up here without you.”

Marco waited. The silence stretched itself thin. He bit his lip. “I need my sulky marshmallow,” he mumbled, tickling the back of Jean’s neck as he did.

Jean held out a moment longer. Then, he shifted and stood up, the duvet falling off his head as he wriggled free. Marco tried not to smile- smiling might send Jean back under the covers- and reached out to him. “Jean?” he questioned.

Jean bit his lip. Marco could see the pink colouring his cheeks. Clearly, ignoring his demands had been just a hard on Jean. “Can you promise you won’t try anything on?” he asked then.

Marco’s brows rose. Jean was trying to start a sex ban? _Jean_? Jean was usually the one who incited everything. Jean was the one who would sneak up behind Marco when he didn’t expect it and start mouthing kisses down his neck in a way that set Marco’s blood on fire. Jean was the one who whispered filthy things in Marco’s ear when people were around just to see him squirm. But here he was, suggesting a cull of precisely that.

Marco rolled onto his back, gazing up at his husband innocently. “I’m afraid that I can promise no such thing,” he smiled. “You’re just too damn sexy to resist.”

Jean flushed red at that. He reacted remarkably quickly to the word ‘sexy’, to Marco’s amusement. Marco arched his back in a curved stretch, and a sliver of stomach bared itself to Jean, along with the dark hair of his happy trail. Jean’s eyes betrayed him.

“For fuck’s sake,” Marco heard him whine, and before he could grin up at him there was a squeak of bedsprings and he was being pinned to the bed by a rather flustered Jean.

Marco beamed up at him. “You changed your mind,” he said, pleased.

“There’s a time and a place for being a smug bastard, you know,” Jean muttered, throwing the duvet haphazardly over them both. “What happened to the boy scared of his own shadow that I met all those years ago?”

Marco poked his tongue between his teeth and lifted his legs to rest them against Jean’s hips, just to tease him. “Do you miss him?” he asked, reaching up to kiss a familiar spot on Jean’s chin.

“Sometimes,” was Jean’s gruff reply. He leant down to kiss Marco on the lips, beaten, and Marco drew him in closer with a content hum. Jean pulled away with a glint in his eye, and that glint made Marco shiver. “Marco Kirschtein-Bodt, you are gonna pay for scaring the shit out of me,” Jean purred.

“Really?” Marco decided to play along. He smirked up at Jean and gave him the best sneer he could. “I’m quaking in my boots, Kirschtein-Bodt.”

“Ohoo, Marco,” Jean said as he dipped his head down to press his lips against Marco’s fluttering pulse, “I’m gonna make you scream.”

**Author's Note:**

> I was gonna end this way sillier. If we carry this on, it's gon' be: 
> 
> "Really?"  
> “Yeah. I’ll suck more than your spirit out of you.”  
> “Ew, pervy dementor.”  
> “Wha- look, I’m fucking scary alright, now lie back and think of pumpkins or some shit.”  
> “Wow, sexy.”  
> Cue Marco getting a pillow in the face.
> 
> Just so you know that Jean is not the smooth bastard he likes to think he is. Child.


End file.
